Birds of A Feather
by lilyamongthorns
Summary: Hayffie character work. Unrelated one shots of sorts. More coming.


AN: A bit of Haymitch/Effie character work to start out on. Unrelated one shorts, I suppose. This is no where near perfect, and I hope that if I continue it, I can go a bit more in depth for each of them. This is the first time I've tried anything like this. Enjoy.

-O-O-O-

He couldn't help it. He wanted her the moment he saw her. And he hated himself for it.

She was Capitol filth, and she'd say the same about him. That he was a bit of District 12 scum not worth the time of day.

He watched her, chatting amiably with others at the party, her hands and fingers moving in delicate whisps as she spoke.

Her lipstick matched her grape colored gown that fell in a wide ruffle around her knees. He could see the glittered silver tulle peeking from beneath, which matched the plum and silver glitter that peppered her sheer stockings. Her hair was electric red this evening with an enormous black flower plopped at the crown of her head.

She was gaudy, and it hurt his head to look at her all at once.

Her voice was about thirty octaves too high. Her manners were sickeningly proper and her laugh a obnoxious hum between her heart-shaped lips. She was Capitol through and through.

In the back of his throat, familiar flames ignited that weren't from his drink that suddenly felt slick in his hand. He hated everything she stood for, everything she was. That he was thrust back into this world of murder packaged as entertainment.

And he wanted to hate _her._ In her ridiculous dress and stupid hair.

But when her blue eyes caught his from across the room, there wasn't a chance in hell.

-O-O-O-

"You're despicable," she accused, dabbing a pink embroidered handkerchief at her eyes.

"I'm used to it. And shouldn't you be as well? You Capitol folk feast and celebrate like animals while children are being slaughtered on your television screens. Is it any different now because you knew them?"

She didn't seem to respond, but blotted a glob of wet mascara from her eye. He noticed her false purple eyelashes had come loose, hanging limp in her eyes. Before his eyes, Effie Trinket was melting.

"What an awful thing to say," she sniffled pitifully, twisting the handkerchief in her lap. Her eyes squeezed shut, but all she could see was the bright crimson blood splurting from the twelve year old boy's throat. The girl—she hadn't lasted ten minutes.

"It's the truth," he retorted before taking a draw from his flask.

She turned, facing the window of the train. The crinoline beneath her dress crunched as she did so.

Taking her hint, he backed his way to the door of the car, headed for the bar.

"It doesn't get any easier," he said quietly, over his shoulder. "You should know that, Princess."

-O-O-O-

She didn't cheer. She didn't leap from his side in elation, clapping at the screen before them. But he felt her reaction all the same. Her spine grew straighter every second, and the oversized sleeves of her dress nearly poked him in the eye as she leaned forward, inching closer and closer to the edge of her seat.

Frozen, she was unmoving at Crane's voice through the arena speakers, announcing the rule declaring two Victors of the same district had been revoked.

He would've missed it all, instead transfixed on the neon orange fingernails sinking into the leather seats. Despite her movement, Effie's face was nearly expressionless, her eyes bright.

Glancing back to the screen, he saw Katniss's open palm and the handful of berries. He felt Effie shift next to him, but no longer could spare her a glance.

Crane's voice came again. The last words they'd hear him speak.

They'd done it. It had ended.

He glanced at the lady on his right. Her shoulders had gone slack, her orange lips parted just slightly. She looked as though she'd had the wind pushed from her chest, or perhaps laced her corset a bit too tight.

Where their eyes met, Haymitch could've sworn that for a moment she looked fearful. She knew what this would mean, and was already contemplating consequences. But just a quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. Instead, she smiled, glittering white teeth like fresh District Twelve snow.

She inhaled through her nose, putting her normal composure on once more, straightening her skirt as she rose from the couch.

"They've done it," she announced, cheery again.

He didn't return to gesture, but rose to fill his flask at the counter in the corner of the room. At least he'd enjoy one last quiet drink before all hell broke loose.


End file.
